


The Galaxy On His Skin

by rosemary_madness



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Adult Morty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Morty Smith, Creampie, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hella, M/M, Praise Kink, Smut, The Flesh Curtains, Top Rick, Virgin Morty Smith, Young Rick, flesh curtains rick - Freeform, im a cool guy who acts like i have nothing but confidence and sexual energy rick sanchez, rickmorty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-01-30 07:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemary_madness/pseuds/rosemary_madness
Summary: “What is it you really want from me, Morty?” Rick’s hand still against his face, caging him in place. “I’m eager to please my fans.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And don’t give me bullshit about wanting nothing as you continue to stare at the hickeys on my neck. Is that what you want? A mark of your own?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello RickMorty fam! I am so excited to share my first fic for this amazing ship and fandom :D I appreciate comments, but please do not beat me up or scream at me if you don't love it. 
> 
> I love me some Flesh Curtains Rick and why not talk about college grad Morty? 
> 
> Also, thank you soooooo much @ricky-sinchez from Tumblr for beta-ing for me! You're amazing ♥♥♥
> 
> ANYWAYS, hope you enjoy!

Crowds weren’t really Morty’s thing. He always felt like he was in the way of somebody else and seemed to stumble on his feet more than usual when he was around other people.

But this was worth it.

He was finally going to see _The Flesh Curtains_ perform live! They were going to be in the same room as him; _he_ was going to be in the same room as him. The thought of it made Morty blush. It was so stupid, so juvenile to have a crush on a rock star, but he couldn’t help it. Rick Sanchez was so cool, so confident, so free, so not Morty… What he wouldn’t give to be like that.

“Hey, kid, move out of the way.” He was quickly pulled from his swerving train of thought as he was shoved forward through the line, beer splashing onto his favorite Flesh Curtains shirt. Morty cringed at the thought, wanting to say something back, before seeing how burly the assailant was behind him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir-- dude?”

 _I better shut up before I get pummeled_ , he thought to himself as he skittered up towards his row. It was quite a ways from the stage, too far to make out the expressions on the band members’ faces even, but it was all Morty could afford. He had just finished college and was grappling through a debt he was sure would follow him for the rest of his life. He really shouldn’t even be spending money on something like a concert right now, but he’d convinced himself he needed to be more open to doing what he wanted and actually let himself have fun, unlike college… and high school. The memories made him wince. And of course, he knew he would regret not seeing the band when they finally came into town. What kind of fan would he be if he didn’t? This may be his only chance to see them live. Yes, his choice was worth it, he reasoned.

After he made it to his seat, he sat and looked at his phone, hands automatically going to pull in earbuds and press play on the music still opened up, “Shit Gets Real” by the _Flesh Curtains_ , before he realized what he was doing. Instead, he decided to spend the next half hour scrolling through album cover photos and band pictures.

He'd typically give himself shit for doing that, getting all excited about pictures of the band, but this was a night about finally seeing them, so Morty would cut himself slack until tomorrow. Feeling himself sigh at the sight, he was reminded once again how embarrassing it was to be this fascinated by a celebrity. The bassist was obviously portrayed a certain way to get attention, lived thousands of miles away, and had no idea who 22 year old weirdo Morty Smith was. It was pointless. But, the brunet still did it. Something about Rick Sanchez is so alluring to him. He seems raw, honest about his opinions, and carefree about everything. And that doesn’t even include his looks. That ocean blue hair Morty wishes he could get lost in, the piercings he wants to kiss along, and those tattoos he aches to trace out all make him so-- God, he was hopeless. He felt like the awkward, horny kid in high school again with an erection at the most inopportune times. Thank God the lights finally dimmed.

“Hello, assholes!” That voice sent Morty’s heart racing. It was even more attractive live with its throaty bravado and stood out from the others just like his playing.

At the first strum of the bass guitar, Morty had chills running up his spine.  Of course the vocals and drumming were good, but hearing Rick Sanchez play bass was a show of its own. Even though they had no lyrics, the bassist could make the strings sing ballads and flip backbends seemingly without thought. To Morty, it was a magnification of everything Rick Sanchez-- free, wild, and mesmerizing all at once. How did he establish confidence and dominance without a word?

Even though he couldn’t see clearly from his seat, Morty could tell that Rick had some innate link to the music. He would swing his hair in perfect time to the beat, legs thumping, and his arms seeming to move at the will of the moment. Morty couldn’t help but dance along, crashing into the slew of jumping bodies around him as the music and scent of pot coaxed him alive.

Everyone was shouting. Whether it be cheering, screaming along to the lyrics, or attempting to talk to their friends Morty wasn’t sure, and he didn’t even care. The music was loud enough to make his ears ring for the rest of his life, the scream of the bass coursing through his veins.

Beads of sweat ran along Morty’s forehead and down his back in the smoky, congested stadium, and beer sloshed around more as people attempted to drunkenly dance along to the beat. He barely had enough time to notice before he’d be pulled back into the frenzy. It was odd to feel like he was truly a part of something for once, connected with everyone around him in a common interest. Morty wished it could go on forever.

“Sorry, bitches, but we’ve got a party to catch!”

It felt like before he could even gasp for breath, it was over, lights blinding as if to wake the audience from a dream. Everyone suddenly went limp, released from their collective trance before teetering off to an exit. Morty was sure that would be the highlight of his life. He didn’t care at all that his legs hurt from standing so long or that his throat scratched from screaming after each song. His only sadness was that it was over. Now he’d have to walk back to the bus stop, catch a ride back to his shitty little apartment and think about money, jobs, and life again. But he knew there was no sense getting upset over the inevitable. Like everyone else, Morty slipped into the line to trudge back out the exit.

As the line moved only a step a minute, Morty began to grow worried. If he didn’t make it out soon, he'd miss the last bus home and have to walk, but all of the few exits in the stadium were traffic jammed with other people.

He nervously scanned the room to look for other available doors with only one being unoccupied- the stage door.

 _There is no fucking way I’m going to get in trouble at my favorite band’s concert,_ he internally chided at the idea. 

He told himself that he would just have to wait and make things work however they could, coming up with all kinds of excuses for following the rules, but then a song from the concert came nagging at the back of his mind. _“Don’t be a pussy. Get your ass up and do what you want. Yeah, do what you want.”_

 _I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? They tell me to go around? And didn’t I come to this concert to work on taking more risks or something?_ his mind reasoned. The other, more reasonable part of him kept screaming at him to be more logical and just go out the door like he usually would, but he'd made up his mind. He wasn’t going to be a pussy this time.

Surprisingly, no one stopped him at the door to ask for a verification badge or even waited there to look at any. It was just a thick black door that led behind the stage and to a corridor. Reminding himself of the lyrics, Morty eventually walked through. Now all he needed to do was look for the exit sign shining over a door, and he was home free.

He was nearly there when he heard a crash in the room two doors up and off to the right. And having a conscience that wouldn’t allow him otherwise, he didn’t even hesitate before running over and opening the door to help whoever was inside.

Bursting into the room, mouth open to ask if everyone was okay, Morty was met with a coughing man at his feet, a large group of people sitting on couches strewn about the space, and a laughing Rick Sanchez right in front of him, nose bleeding and a burning cigarette in his mouth.

The brunet wondered if he should give into his flight response and run away, eyes blown wide with disbelief.How could he get himself into trouble this easily? Karma really was a bitch. 

He twisted back towards the door, quickly pulling at the doorknob and fiddling with it to open, as his mind reeled with anxiety. His hands were so slick with sweat that he could barely get a grip, and his heart was beating so loud that he couldn’t even hear when someone was calling to him.

“God, poor kid can’t even hear me. Were you looking for someone?” He stopped in his movement, unwilling to turn around and see the man addressing him. He already knew who it was.

“Um… just seeing if anyone needed help… I heard a crash.”

“Huh, ain’t that sweet, Gearhead. Someone came to give-give you a hand. Too bad you already got your ass kicked by the time he got here.” Morty could hear the smirk in the voice., making his knees buckle a little.

“Get up, asshole.”

As the man got up from the floor and walked to the other side of the room with the chattering occupants, Morty could clearly make out the sound of lightly clicking footsteps beginning to crowd him in. The boy was sure he was going to throw up from the anticipation. He just wanted to get out of there and forget about this, getting back to turning the door handle.

“Why the rush? Aren’t you excited to see me? _The_ Rick Sanchez?” A hand came out beside Morty’s face, coiled muscles keeping him trapped in the room.

“Oh jeez,” he let out in a strangled whisper. “I-I-I’m not even supposed to be in here. Don’t want to get in trouble!”

“Hah, it's my band’s room, so you can be back here if you want to.” No response. “And even if you weren’t supposed to be here, we don’t have security guards to haul off your ass.”

“Ha, that’s what we have you here for, Rick,” came a call from someone else in the back. Morty was pretty sure it was the drummer Squanchy from that uniquely guttural voice and the way Rick offered a playful wink and hand gun as he laughed, but with his addled brain, he couldn't be sure.

“So yeah, since I’m not already beating your ass for being here, you're free to stay.”

“O-okay.” Holy shit, what was even happening? He was being watched by the Flesh Curtains and their groupies, and Rick Sanchez was telling him to stay with them? Morty could hardly think with the feeling of eyes on his back and the clouds of smoke that occasionally drifted over his shoulder.

“I mean, God, if-if you want to leave, then by all means, I won’t stop you. I’m just saying…” 

What _was_ he saying? Morty begged to know.

“Um, all right. Th-thanks,” Morty stammered, working to gather enough courage to at least let go of the doorknob. After a few minutes, he slowly turned around to face the voice behind him, trying to look into his eyes. True to the photos, Rick had starlit blue eyes and a tall frame, lean muscles accentuating his form. Yet, something about seeing him in real life made him even more attractive. He wasn't placed for some photoshoot, molded into a pose, but was actually there, organic in the way he bit his lip a little to secure his cigarette, and took no notice of the blood dripping from his slightly crooked nose. Fuck, Morty couldn't take his eyes away if he wanted to, only able to scan his eyes around the rest of the man's body.

There was blood on his thin lips, and the bassist wiped the rest off, bringing a hand up to swipe it away, lacing his winding galaxy tattoo with strands of red. Taking a further look at the man, Morty noticed he was wearing tight, black pants that had far too many rips, and seemed far too tight for the rocker, not that Morty noticed of course, a pale blue top that showcased the tan skin and tattoos underneath, and black ankle boots with a modest heel. The brunet couldn't deny that his jeans were starting to be a little too tight for him as well.

“No problem,” Rick replied, breaking Morty's trance as he walked further into the room and over to a table. “So did you want an autograph or something?”

“Uh, yeah--sure!”

“Your shirt, a photo, your-your head, your dick?” He said it so casually as he picked up the marker that Morty almost didn’t catch the last part.

“Ah, um, jus-just the shirt! Thank you!”

Rick only laughed. “You’d be surprised how many people ask for that, or the-their boobs.”

“Oh my god, I didn’t need to know that!”

“Jeez, you sure are uptight. Never met a man this sexy before?” the man purred, his customary smirk in place.

Morty wondered if this was all a punishment for trying to take a shortcut.

“Just caught off guard is all… Ha. Ha.” Morty tried to come off more casual, running his hand through the back of his hair. To anyone else, it probably appeared manic.

“Yeah-yeah, sure. So where do you want me to sign?”

“Um, what-wherever on the shirt that’s easiest is-is fine by me.” He knew it was crazy and cliche to think, but Morty could swear that he felt his skin burning through his shirt when Rick’s palm came down to steady the pen dotting across his back.

“Godamnit,” Rick mumbled. “This one doesn’t work. I’m gonna have to go get-get one from of the storage room. You’re free to come with me, so you don’t get too fuckin' ‘caught off guard’ by the other fucks in the room,” walking back to the door and striding down the hall before Morty could respond.

\---

“So, what’s your name?” Rick asked as he looked for another marker in the shelves and buckets.

“Morty. Mo-Morty Smith.”

“Quite a name. I like it.”

“Thanks…!”

“Are you from around here?”

“Yeah--Yeah, I live about five miles away, near the university! Um… grew up around here too…” God, why couldn’t he do more than babble? This was something he’d dreamt of for years. Why couldn’t he get his shit together?

“Ha, you went to school? I mean good--good job making it through, but damn I would never go through it my-myself... Probably too smart anyways.”

Too overwhelmed he was actually having a conversation with his longtime crush, Morty just nervously laughed a little bit, hoping Rick would fill the space.

“You uh-you’re quite the fangirl, Morty haha. Funn-Flustered blushes and-and all.”

Was he really that easy to read? He truly was a pussy, he thought, but he didn’t want Rick to know!

“I am-- I am not!” he stammered.

“You are, but being a fan or a girl isn’t a bad thing at all, so I don’t know-get why you’re so huffy about it.” He sounded serious, but Morty knew he was still playing with him.

Rick looked through one final bucket behind a wooden desk in the room and swiftly turned around, ending up mere inches from Morty, who he bent towards to make eye contact with.

“I found a fucking marker!” he cheered, exchanging air with the cherry red brunette.  

“Yay!” Morty squeaked.

“Yeah, see? You’ve--you’ve got such rosy cheeks!” He reached a cool hand out to cup Morty’s face. “God, its like you've gotta fever! It’s cute.”

What the fuck is going on? Rick definitely must have known what he was thinking. _God, if you have mercy, don’t let him look at my pants, please,_ Morty begged of whatever god there might be. “Just warm in here, yo-you kn-know…?”

“Oh, guess that makes sense with why you keep your hands over your dick too. Shoulda known I guess.”

It seemed god was on the side of karma this time. 

“Wha-wha-whaaaat? I don’t know what you’re talk-talking about. I’m just keeping my arms out- out of the way to make signing the shirt easier.”

“What is it you really want from me, Morty?” Rick growled playfully, his hand still against the boy's face, thumb stroking along the jaw. “I’m eager to please my fans.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And don’t give me shit about wanting nothing as you stare at my bi-dick or the fuckin' bruises on my neck. Is that what you want? A mark of your own?”

Morty was getting too flustered. Rick seemed to read him like a book, and he could do nothing to prove him wrong. There was so much he wanted, so many things he'd dreamed of doing with the rock star, but he couldn't seem to say that either. He worried if they got any closer, he would make himself even more vulnerable, just to get laughed at probably or be seen as a disgusting little fan.

“Fuck you!" He finally muttered, turning his eyes to his muddy shoes. Rick laughed, a light sound floating through the air, and kept his hand securely on the boy's cheek.

“Love it if you would.”  

“WHAT?”

“God, really, Morty. I’m surprised at you. I figured you--you had me pinned as a slut this whole time. I’m no stranger to sex. Believe me, I could give you whatever you need to get off.”

 _This is a dream. A fucking dream. There was no way this could ever happen._ _It’s not like I’ve never had hot dreams with Rick before…_

“So what’ll it be, Morty?” _Say no, say no, say no! Even if it’s a dream, you gotta pull yourself together, Morty!_

“Yes.” He panted it into Rick’s ear, trying not to squirm and readjust himself.

“God, that was easy.” Rick took his hand away from Morty, smiling proudly to himself. “I’ll be right back. I just have to grab something.”

As soon as the bassist left the room, Morty dropped to the floor, breathing like he’d just broken the water’s surface. He was so stupid, so crazy, and so horny. What a fucking idiot.

It was time to leave.

But he couldn’t convince his body to move. Despite all of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he couldn’t even turn to his side. At least the tile helped to ease the burn of his skin. Kind of like Rick’s hand that still left Morty’s cheek tingling from the touch.

He tried to clear his mind as he remained on the floor, but it ran wild with images of what had happened and what could happen when Rick returned… if he did in fact come back. Just the thought of those hands back on his skin made Morty’s pants tighten to a painful extreme. He wanted to trace each of those stars that lined Rick’s arm as he claimed the rock star’s already bruised neck, leaving a good mark for the man to remember him by. And god, if he could, Morty would run his small hands through that wild blue mane and try not to whine as Rick finally relieved the tension that'd been building the entire night.  

His cock was definitely throbbing now, and Morty instinctively reached a hand down to sate his burning need when he heard the door opening behind him.

“You know, this lube I graciously got for you would probably make you feel much better, Morty.”

Fuck the bus. Morty had better things to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty gets the d, and its not like he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit wow it's like six months left, and I'm finally updating this child. Oh my god I have no idea what happened Jesus. How did I get so sidetracked?? 
> 
> ANYWAYS...
> 
> Here is a new chapter, and I hope you like it. I am trying to be more consistent in updating my fics and have updated my desired timeline/plot for this, so progress should be much quicker than last time.

Morty could hear the feeble metal legs of the table quivering underneath him, shaking with each shuddering breath as he looked up at the eyes shimmering above him, brow barbells and tongue piercing skipping light over his skin with each playful laugh.

He hardly noticed through the stings of pleasure Rick gave him, running his hands through the brunet’s curls and down his cheek before dragging nails down the boy’s chest and back up as he peeled the shirt away. Against the scorching skin of Morty’s chest, the cold burst of air conditioning only riled the boy further.

He felt undone, scattered thread of his mind strewn about the floor and knotting together with more confusion and need as the other’s teasing touches nipped at his self-control. All he could think about was wanting more, attaching himself to the thing that could give him satisfaction rather than his scrambled wits.

“Your skin feels ju-just as hot as it looks. You must be aaall worked up, huh?” Rick whispered into his ear, nibbling on the shell and earning a whine when his teeth continued nipping their way down his jaw and onto his throat. It made Morty wonder what it was like to be bitten raw and marked like the man before him.

The bassist’s hands were on his chest, pads of his fingers dancing over his ribs and small frame, making the boy feel self-conscious yet eager as he discreetly arched his back into the touch for more. In the back of his mind, he worried about the table collapsing in, but he’d be damned if he pulled away now for worry.

“Oh fuck,” He whimpered when he felt the tongue lap at the wells of his collarbone, unable to keep himself from squirming and holding tighter to the edges of the desk, knuckles taut and pale.

“What was that, Morty?”

With his embarrassed silence, the brunet was rewarded a bite on the jutting bone, doing his best not to moan and rut against Rick who stared back through the curtain of his blue hair with a grin that was far too enticing. It was so much like his fantasies.

He still couldn’t believe he was with his celebrity crush, like this, and had half convinced himself it was a dream to keep from frantically screaming over the reality of it all. God, the man was even more attractive in person, especially in a position like this, leaning over him and sharing his warmth, grinning and smelling like a high must feel.

“No-nothing…” He rasped out, clearing his throat but throwing his head back in a moment, feeling a pert nipple being swirled around by the tongue tip and the other thumbed over by Rick’s callused touch. Holy shit, it was incredible, and not just because he was a desperate virgin with the dude of his dreams. Rick knew what he was doing.

He could feel his confined cock twitch under his pants, fabric rubbing against Rick’s thin shirt as he stood between the splayed legs and pressed his chest to Morty’s. It seemed stupid, but he still didn’t want the bassist to know he was horny, or at least that horny. It would show just how desperate and inexperienced he was which seemed embarrassing, despite the fact the man probably felt it under him and knew how to smell a virgin a mile away.

“Oh? Then I must not be doing enough to-to help you, huh?”

In a quick movement, the worry became reality as Rick tore the pants away and threw them off behind him, tracing his hands down Morty’s chest before dipping a thumb below the waistband of the boy’s boxers and looking back at the shivering brunet, hand slithering inside.

Morty let out a loud moan, legs kicking and trying to catch on something before his hands flew up and wrapped around Rick’s hips, pressing his cock against the fingertips that merely traced down his weeping shaft. The man’s hands felt perfect against the sensitive skin, and in true smarmy, English-major Morty fashion, he couldn’t help but consider how it was the same fingers that created music that he loved that now bit at his needy length.

He was getting very worked up, heart beating in his ears as Rick continued to touch him, rubbing his thumb over the slit or working a single finger from the dusting of hair and up to the beading tip.

“Morty, I’m surprised you aren’t as vocal. I was so excited to hear you crying every time I touched you.”

As Rick returning to lapping at his nipples for a second time and scraped his teeth down his sternum alongside the fleeting contact on his erection, he felt even more desperate, chest aching as he heaved in anticipation. Why wasn’t he giving the boy more? Morty thought that the rock star was using this as a convenient fuck for himself, so why wasn’t he just getting right to it and fucking him fast and rough? It seemed surprising that he was drawing this out, pulling Morty by the ankles until the boy was begging for more and focused solely on the touch of experienced hands.

“Fuck! Pl-Please, Rick,” Morty whimpered out, unable to tolerate this soft dance around sex that the man was doing. He raised his hips more against the other, not daring to touch anything but the clothed sides and maybe the tan skin that resided just above it, on accident.

“That’s more like it, babe. Tell me what you want, and I’ll be mo-more than happy to give it.”

Morty’s mouth snapped shut, teeth biting his tongue as he fell silent again. Sure, he’d gotten to begging like that, but he wouldn’t shatter all of his pride by telling this hero of his that he wanted him to fuck him until he forgot to breathe, make him come apart at the seams as he was filled and slammed into by the thrust of Rick’s hips. He was getting close though, feeling the frustration eating into his veins and clawing at his chest with the lust. All it took to break him was the bassist’s hand slithering down from the shaft and over the bundle of muscles to circle the tight hole that ached for attention, muscles tensing as two fingers swiped over the entrance and pressed down on it as the boxers shimmied the rest of the way down.

His hands flailed and moved on their own volition, one clawing into Rick’s firm ass cheek and the other reaching to loop into the ring of the bassist’s choker, yanking him down into a kiss and rasping out his response.

“Fuck--Fucking stop playing, and fuck me, please!”

He earned a wide grin with that, the blue eyes glazed over as his canines peered through his lips. It both terrified and enlivened Morty at the same time, making his length throb against Rick’s touch and hand unable to move from the choker. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said he needed the man, and before he came all over himself without the chance of getting it all.

“I’d love to babe,” The other purred, still holding the leaking cock in his fingers and tracing it slowly. “But you haven’t told me wha--much of what you want, so I think I’ll let you have the reins there.”

Morty could hear the laugh reverberate through him, making him groan again and bite his worried lips as he stared with wide doe eyes. How was Morty going to do that? Before he could ask, Rick was straightening back up, picking Morty up and placing him back onto his caving legs.

Trying to keep from falling to his knees and doing his best to resist covering himself in shame, for fear of Rick chinding him for it and teasing him more, the brunet watched with sparking gold eyes as the other swaggered over to the shaking desk and unzipped his torn black jeans, showing the bulge that tented in the black boxers underneath.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to just go over there and tear the fabric down to look, see what he’d thought about far too often to be normal, or at least equal the playing ground a little more as he was fully naked, hands shaking at his chest as he fought dressing back up, and the bassist’s outfit was still intact.

Rick gestured for him to come closer, and with little hesitation under the hopes of being sated, Morty listened, wobbling over and instinctively covering his front, feeling more flustered as they drew closer, despite the man already having seen.

As expected, there was a quip to come with it, the small action not going unnoticed to the bassist.

“Awe, don’t be shy babe. You have a beautiful little cock,” He cooed, giving it a small tug before hoisting Morty onto his lap and sharing air with him again.

The boy choked on the exchange, legs weak as he straddled Rick and tried not to touch him for fear of cumming or messing up what could be another sick fantasy of his. But with the increasingly intense waves of need drowning his senses and the feel of warm hands around his waist, he slowly gave in and held onto the other’s arms. He wanted to rip off the clothes and just feel all of Rick over his hands, on his skin, inside him, and it took everything within him to remember he wasn’t usually like this and needed to act somewhat collected… right?

“You ever taken a cock before, baby?”

If he weren’t so utterly embarrassed about being a virgin, he would have ground down against Rick, being called baby somehow meaning more to him and setting off all the alarms in his mind to shut down. But he was embarrassed, definitely still cock hungry and thirsty for what the rock star could give him, but feeling his high ebb a little as he had to consider what to say.

“No… I haven’t” He grumbled, unable to look at the twinkling eyes, and staring at the galaxy and other designs etched into the skin instead, cheeks all the more flushed.

“Well, fuck, you’ve got quite a person to-to start with.” Rick smiled a little more earnestly then, like he was trying to comfort him or at least give that impression, and it caught Morty’s breath. He’d never considered tenderness from Rick Sanchez like this, especially not during sex, and especially not with him.

“I-I guess so,” The boy squeaked, lips caught between a simpering grin and a bashful frown.

Within moment, the smug tint to Rick’s expression returned, and he pulled Morty up to rest on his knees, making him kneel just a few inches above the covered cock. His skin hummed as the other ran a long hand slowly down his spine, anchoring it around his small hip and coating the other in lube.

“You ever play around down there?”

Nodding, Morty wriggled at the sight of the slicked fingers, thinking he knew where this was going. They were actually going to get to the fucking part of all of this, and it was going to be official that he got to… be with Rick Sanchez like this, not that he’d tell anyone.

“Good, babe. I’ll give you a little prep and then you get to run the show like you wanted, got it?”

He nodded again, ignoring the apprehension and feeling soothed by the quiet hum in Rick’s voice as he spoke to him. It seemed vastly different from the bassist in the papers and onstage, having the boy hard for the kind tone. Making the choice in his mind, he decided he was going to work to make the other proud of him, praise him for doing something and let that lilting tone kiss his ears again.

When his eyes caught on Rick’s, two cold and slicked fingers rubbed over the ring of muscle before dipping inside and making Morty mewl in pleasure, feeling his mind and resolve scatter again. Fuck, it hurt, especially considering he hadn’t touched himself in months, caught up in finishing college and looking for jobs. But on the same note, it made it feel even better, walls stretched and aching as they tried to take the digits in.

With a reminder of what he was after, he grit his teeth and pushed his hips down, taking the fingers two knuckles deep and swaying as he tried to adjust. He could already feel the walls rippling and contracting, and Morty dug his nails into Rick’s skin, trying to breathe through the sting.

“Fucking hell!”

“God, you’ve got quite the mouth, Morty. I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like when you have my-my cock inside you.”

Was Rick trying to make him cum without getting to that point? The kid was sensitive, and he knew that if he kept being talked to, he’d be done for in a matter of seconds. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing down more and swearing, hoping to earn another witticism and hear that slight upturn in the pitch of the bassist’s deep voice.

Rick helped a little, holding Morty to keep him from falling as he stabilized the shaking hip, running gentle touched over his jutting hip bone and over to his tailbone while the one inside worked to scissor and stretch.

“Keep going, babe. You’re gonna need more than this to take it. Push out a little and move back up. Take it all in.”

He kept going, quickening his pace over time and quivering when Rick would splay and part his fingers or added a third inside, little grunts escaping his lips and driving Morty to move faster, swallow it all up and move to the beat of the drums still ringing in his ears from earlier.

When he was satisfied with it, Rick smirked up at Morty and slid his fingers out, lips parting and eyes closing for a moment as the boy cried at the emptiness. He was getting so close, the climax practically beating against his chest.

Seeming to be almost as eager as the boy now, Rick pulled his erection out of his boxers and tugged at the length before drizzling a generous amount of lube overtop and licking his lips, jerking him closer.

He couldn’t see him perfectly from his angle on his knees, ocean hair falling in waves in front of the view, but he could feel the warmth of the skin near him, and it wasn’t long before Morty was panting and tightening his grip, a small cry on his lips as the tip pressed against his entrance. He prayed to whatever god there was that he wouldn’t cum too quickly or cry that he couldn’t handle it.

Within a moment, Rick pulled Morty down, bringing the first few inches inside of the still tight hole. A shrill noise came from the boy, and he felt himself clench, waiting to adjust to the extreme girth, and likely length, before bringing himself into more of a sitting position and allowing his rim to ache as he moved fast to have it all.

“Ri-Rick! Oh, fuck it-it feels good!” He stammered, sheathing the cock inside and burying his face into Rick’s neck, arms locked around, as the ripples of prostate stimulation chipped away at him.

He needed it all, how the slick skin scraped against his inner walls, how Rick groaned and grunted, commenting on how hot and tight he was, how the too-full fit felt perfect and painful in all the right ways. Within a few thrusts, he could feel himself teetering, and he remembered the other’s words of him having the reins, moving on autopilot as he seated himself and ripped Rick’s thin tank top away, squeezing one of the pierced nipples and arching his neck at a weird angle to lick the other, trying to make the other as worked up as he was.

Morty was not disappointed either, Rick cursed into the open air, tightening both hands around the boy’s small frame, his fingertips meeting in the middle and scratching the spine as he began to force Morty up and down again, raising his hips to bring him even deeper until he was pounding into the other, cheeks slapping against thighs as the two of them joined in moving more into the contact. It felt so deep, he wondered if the rock star could feel the movements of his cock when he ran his thumbs over his belly.

“Please, I-I-I need more,” He babbled, all of his skin burning and his own cock aching as Rick plunged inside of him and back out.

He’d given up trying to contain himself for the sake of propriety, shame, or whatever the shit he was thinking, and resigned himself to the need, biting at Rick’s lips and getting a sloppy, near choking kiss as the other slid his tongue into his mouth, letting the metal piece clank around and add a texture to the tastes of the other’s mouth: tequila, smoke, and some leather tang musk that made the boy bite and twirl his tongue for more.

“Fucking shit, Morty. You little--Fuck.”

Rick seemed to be losing it as well, a welcome surprise that he wouldn’t believe if he weren’t being picked up and shoved against a chilled wall. The man was locking the small legs tight around his waist, which Morty was more than happy to oblige with, closing his eyes as Rick’s tongue ran a warm line down to his throat and sucked on the skin. And in just a few moments, the rock star was plowing back inside, sweeping over the prostate on each in and out snap.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” Morty shouted, sure he was leaving scars as his nails slid down Rick’s back.

Every point in his body was stimulated, and when he came, screaming and writhing, he felt his head lull back against the wall, eyes closing before he was snapped back into consciousness by Rick still pounding into him, the smack of their sweaty skin a weak distraction as overstimulation ate at his body and almost made the boy beg to be put down.

“I can’t wait to see you cumming again and again. I can’t wait to fuck you so hard and come undone afterwards. Next time, I’ll make it extra special for you.”

The words swam through his mind, making Morty begin to be half turned on again, spent dick trying to raise and slick as he considered the words in his sex addled brain. As Rick came inside him, coating his walls in hot slick, he emptied out and set the boy back down, wiping his thumb along the dripping essence on the boy’s thigh and wiping it over the boy’s swollen lips before pulling his own shirt and pants back on.

“I’ll be at Jag tomorrow at 9,” Rick near growled into his ear, eyes having a different, downturned and murky glow that left Morty more confused than the quick exit or the entire situation that was now his life.  

What the fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to just have them go the fuck at it fucking like my priest kids or something, but then I mapped out more of the emotional landscape for these two, and I have decided that that kinkier, steamier stuff will be coming later (son don't lose hope if that's what you came fore). 
> 
> And like, wow I know it was kind of a shambled mess, but I just wanted to get this neck chapter out and get the cogs moving again, so it was a little bit of an odd project. And I'm rambling... Jeez.
> 
> Hope you liked it <3

**Author's Note:**

> (Kind) comments and kudos are appreciated!


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